Almost Beautiful
by ambre gris
Summary: A collection of one-shots related to nearly everything in the HG universe. Moments, miracles, mindsets, and more. Anything goes.
1. Black Butterflies

Author's Note: Starting a new project while working on another one is baaad, I know, but sometimes you just need to get those ideas out of your head before they completely derail your brain. Recently I was inspired to write these by The Hunger Games series and Gustavo Santaolalla's score of the new film _Biutiful_ (both of which I don't own and am only borrowing for creative purposes). Lengths, settings, and perspectives will vary. I've played around with the song titles from the soundtrack a little to suit each chapter (though I probably won't write something to each song). Anyway, it's something different that I'm enjoying writing and I hope you'll enjoy reading. :) As always, feedback is much appreciated. Without further ado...

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**Almost Beautiful  
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Slowly, silently, she dips into the water. Still when she arrived, now rippling with her presence, she hopes that she's the first person to touch it since those dark days. Nature has guarded it, kept it as beautiful as she remembers, and she is glad. Just as the pond saved her life at age twelve, it saves her again at seventeen, making her feel useful and dutiful when Sundays just aren't enough.

First she swims on her back, delicate strokes disturbing surface plants, hands reaching to catch sunlight falling through the trees above. Dark strands escape from plaited grasp and the water takes them gently, stirring them along as she goes. Submerged, her ears gather nothing but the flow of her fluid motions beside them. Her wings flutter, surely and steadily, propelling her as though she were flying through clouds. This was one of the first ways her father taught her how to be in the pond. Face to the sky, she was amazed how easily her body could float. Swimming came to her as naturally as climbing trees or shooting off arrows.

Next, she turns and dives with little effort, opening her eyes beneath. The pond is as clear as day. Small life forms rush to conceal themselves behind large rocks while bottom grasses sway soundlessly as she passes. She travels in a large arc around the edges of the pool, arms and legs pulling in different sequences, combing the water and making shapes for her to move through. As she approaches the middle, she is happy to feel that the exercise has left her hardly winded. Her lips find a real smile to form around. It doesn't hurt to smile here, in this place that is known to only them.

She's never felt bad about keeping it to herself. Not once had it occurred to her that she was being selfish in this aspect. She could have told Gale at any time, but even having him here would trample on her father's memory, despite the fact that he's the quietest creature she's ever met. She might welcome Prim, if only the young one could be welcomed by the forest. Selfish. She refuses to acknowledge the meaning of the word even as it hangs in the forefront of her mind.

_What do you think of me now, Dad?_ She wishes he were around to answer because he was always so straightforward. Never had anything to hide the way she hides from everything now.

All of the sudden she feels too big for the pond and rises, taking in more than enough air to sustain her lungs. She allows the water to come to a halt, encompassing her listless body. Katniss is the tiniest of islands, hovering at the center of all things that she wants to push away from the one thing she longs to hold onto forever. Katniss, ever resilient, thrives in the depths below, calling out to her by their shared name. She allows herself a moment to sink to the bottom, buries her hands in the dirt, becomes one with her roots.

The long braid down her back is heavy with pond water and burden as she drags it beside herself to shore. It is two months before President Snow will wait for her in the office at her new house in the Victor's Village. Two months before he gives her a warning to change Panem before her chance is up. She will fail both regrettably and purposely, and another month later she will find herself tangled in the web of a Quarter Quell with those she never thought she'd ever have to meet in the arena.

Not long after, District Twelve will be one of the first victims of horrendous fire bombing and purging at the hand of the Capitol. By an order emitted from Snow's unnaturally plump lips on bloody, rosy breath. The flames will spread into the woods some, searing away all traces of Katniss Everdeen in their path. The lake will no doubt hold its own, but the same will not be said for her pond. It will dry up and become nothing more than a dirt hole, as the Gamemakers made happen to all of the springs in the 74th Hunger Games. And when she is allowed out to hunt in a district she can't quite call her own, she will steer clear of all bodies of water, for the reminder of what is gone will hurt too much.

Presently she is not so aware of these grand-scale commotions. The spark that Cinna created and the fire that Peeta fanned. All she sees is the pond, and all it has is her. She wants to pluck it up and take it home in her pocket, drink it all and carry it with her as she walks, use it to extinguish the arsons she has unknowingly committed. But all she can do is swim in it, soak it into her skin until her fingers and toes become wrinkled, watch helplessly as it evaporates from her clothes and back into the air.

To ease her heart, she fills a flask to the brim, which she stows on her waist. She picks arrowheads, some for her and some for dearest Prim. Tonight she will use the water for tea, the roots for stew, and she will braid the flowers into their hair. She'll tell Prim about this place and what it means for her, for the both of them. The young healer is no wood nymph but she needs to know, just in case.

Just in case Katniss is lost on the Victory Tour, stolen away by the cameras and the Capitol, Prim needs to know where to find her again.


	2. Reign

Author's Note: A Snow-esque one-shot. He sure was a high-caliber creep. On that note, these characters and some of their dialogue do not belong to me, but I'll just be borrowing them for now. :) Enjoy!**  
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_Pull her aside and let yourself unfurl; show her just who's boss in this town. Arrive at her home and slip in like a shadow, a creeping vine made invincible by barbed wire thorns. Find out her weaknesses when you look into her mother's face, when you peer into her young sister's soul. Strike the fear into her eyes, bury her smoldering heart in ash._

You wait patiently for her return. She's out in the woods, you expect. She can't stay away, this she's proved time and time again.

She risks everything for survival. She's gotten her family through the worst with the help of the wilderness, filled their bellies with years of gatherings and game that rightly belonged to the Capitol. She's brave, defying the law in broad daylight, adding officials to her payroll one by one. And she's smart, that much can be said to her credit, but at the same time she's an idiot to believe that any of her actions, past or present, will not go unpunished. So naïve. Typical of Twelve, the most ignored and unwanted district. That is, until now. All because of her.

Your eyes sweep the decorated office, knowing that most of the materials here are not of Everdeen origin. There are frames without pictures, encyclopedias, the plush chair you make yourself comfortable in, and the elegant desk you rest your gloved hands upon. A few books on the shelves and some ink and paper are most likely all they would have had to bring for this room. Luckily for them it was already filled.

Her bewilderment is so apparent that you must keep yourself from laughing at it outright. As she entered you could almost feel her start, like a small tremor that rumbled toward you through the floorboards. However she manages to keep them just barely at bay, her emotions are not that hard to miss. She sits across from you politely.

"Let us agree not to lie to each other," you offer simply. She acquiesces. You make certain she will listen, and are completely honest about the stakes. Her immediate loved ones, including her "cousins", are expendable. Just as Seneca Crane was, the old fool. She gets the point. You funnel this into an explanation about her pathetic puppy-love theatrics and the fact that not all have fallen under the spell of Katniss and Peeta. The intended suicide was far from noble. It was treason, in the highest regard.

She seems a little surprised that her act was so transparent. She may be naïve, but she certainly isn't innocent. She played a game within _your_ Games, and officially she may have won, but you are prepared to tip her hand by any means necessary. She will lose everything. If it were completely up to you, she would have been wiped from Panem months ago. It would have saved you every bit of trouble she is at the root of.

Mrs. Everdeen offers tea. Why, you'd be delighted to have some. It amuses you even more when the tray is brought in minutes later lined with frosted cookies and fancy cups. Things they never would have been able to afford in their old life, in their most elaborate dreams. Things that you hope they make the most of, for they may be missing them very soon.

It's then that she practically begs you to kill her. Publicly or perhaps through an arranged accident, she doesn't seem to care, just as she doesn't care about Peeta Mellark or the exact degree to which the citizens of the entire country have come to care about them. She contradicts herself as easily as she hits the mark with her arrows. Stupid, hypocritical girl.

You know very well that her excursions into the woods aren't strictly hunting ventures. No, not when you chose to monitor a possible rebel's every waking moment did you assume anything. You kept watching and waiting and eventually you turned up something so extremely valuable that now you can't let it go unnoticed. It's written all over her face as she thinks about it, but she's tragically unaware of your position, ready to strike down her platitudes of love for the poor baker's son.

"Please don't hurt Gale." The urgency in her voice is the first real thing you've heard come from her mouth since the beginning on the conversation. But you hardly consider it redeemable.

She's got her work cut out for her. She's no actress and you already know that she'll fail, so why give her the chance? You're far from kind and not even remotely generous. You suppose it may even do more harm than good, but the enjoyment of watching her struggle to win at yet another game will undoubtedly be worth it. All eyes will be on her and conveniently turned away from you. Besides, you never said that you were doing her any favors.

Though her skill with a bow is nothing to be discounted, you tell her to aim even higher. The confusion that clouds her expression is priceless, a true break in the tough front she's tried to maintain throughout your little meeting.

"Convince _me_," you tell her. And finally, she gets it. You take in the last of your tea to hide a smile. How this daft girl ever managed to win the hearts of the people isn't exactly a mystery, but there's no way she could ever make a grab for what's left of yours. Hopefully she'll die trying.

You rise to leave, ensuring the white rose in your jacket lapel is secure and straightening the cuffs of your sleeves. She refuses to look at you, her brain hard at work, most likely shooting off in all different directions but coming back to one conclusion. She thinks she can kill you and the thought entertains you so much that you feel the sores in your mouth ache with laughter.

Before you step too far, you lean down and confide in her, "I know about the kiss." As you disappear out the door, you imagine that her blood has frozen in her veins and that her world has come to a screeching halt. If only your words were enough to literally knock her dead. Ah, but there will be a time and a place for that. The things most wanted often come to those who wait.


	3. Kat's Gut

Author's Note: If Peeta had killed the girl from District Eight, I think this is how it would have gone down. I don't own these characters or their insane surroundings. Just borrowing for a bit. :) Thanks for the reads and the reviews, by the way. Keep 'em coming!

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I have no idea how I ended up here, in the midst of the Careers on the first night of the 74th Hunger Games. It was a stroke of luck that they even let me survive at the Cornucopia, and now I'm part of their group, seeking out the remaining tributes. I don't wonder how long I have until they decide to dispose of me since they more than adequately make up for in strength what they most certainly lack in subtlety.

Everyone back home must loathe me for changing sides like this. Confessing my feelings for Katniss and then abandoning her on the playing field definitely isn't going to win me any points. What was actually real for me on that stage is now being seen as a complete farce, just another strategy to win. Peeta Mellark sure knows how to play the people. I'd hate me for it, too.

We're trudging in the dark, downhill, through an endless maze of trees and shrubs, looking for any stragglers and maybe a place to make camp. I'm taking up the rear not only because they're arrogant enough to think that I wouldn't try anything, but they're also arrogant enough to know that if we get attacked from behind, I'm the first to go. Amazing defense plan. I won't hold it against them, though. They're just doing what they do best: blazing trails to their own victories.

I'm not really paying attention back here, anyway, which I know will get me killed so easily it's funny, but I can also attribute it to the significant temperature drop and hunger even though we consumed our rations not too long ago. The rich Capitol food leaves you wanting, but I suppose that's the point. The brutes ahead of me could live off of themselves forever. Another reason for them not to keep me around much longer.

Suddenly, there's a faint glow ahead, not even one hundred yards away. Someone has made a fire. How stupid! It's not like we're being all that quiet, either. To emphasize this, the Careers break into a run, and I keep up if only to conceal my steps in theirs. We come upon her in seconds, a dozing tribute just trying to stay warm in the earliest hours of the morning. She wakes with a shriek as Clove grabs her by the neck and twists her arms behind her back, holding them together with one powerful hand.

It's the girl from District Eight. She's crying, begging for mercy through alliance, and Cato is just grinning down at her evilly. The other three Careers egg him on, pushing him to just be rid of her, to shut her up. I don't even know her name, and have even less time to remember her appearance because Cato is shoving a knife into my hand and motioning for me to get on with it.

"You'll be next if you don't," he growls, flexing to show me that he has no problem following through. Definitely not subtle. The girl is squirming, trying frantically to escape Clove's grasp, but the District Two tribute has a grip like a vice. The others stand back and snicker. We all know the cameras and the crowds are loving this.

I make them all disappear — the Careers and the screams — as I drive the knife into District Eight's chest. With one twist and then the removal, her life ends immediately. She's dropped like a sack of flour, her blood spilling out through the rip above her heart. Clove rejoins Cato and the others, who all praise me with facetious enthusiasm while checking the girl's pack for supplies. Inside I'm rattling, but I keep my cool on the outside, wiping off the blade with steady hands and pocketing it for myself. I turn to Cato, who gives me a nod of approval but not much else.

"Let's go," I say, breezing past the body and further into the brush. They're on the move just as quickly and resume their lead soon enough. Curiously, there is no cannon blast. I think I'm the first to catch on, until we reach a grove of willow trees about a minute later. They're a bit spooky, branches nearly touching the ground, shadowing their trunks with leafy curtains. Then it hits me. Could it be? A tribute is hiding among us?

Katniss...?

And then, "I didn't hear a cannon..."

"She's dead, or she will be soon enough," Cato replies.

"How can you be sure?"

"Yeah, what a waste that would be, to have to go looking for her —"

"I'll go back and finish her off for good, then," I interrupt, trying to sound offended that they doubt my ability to kill. Before there's more opposition I'm making a beeline for District Eight's campfire, which is now reducing itself to ash. I lean over the corpse, taking my time, pretending to stab someone who I know for sure has already expired.

There's only one reason the Gamemakers would delay the cannon. Katniss is in those willow trees and the most vicious group of tributes is just below. They want us to find her. They want the ultimate confrontation on the first night of the Games. Too bad they aren't going to get it.

I look to the sky. I'm done torturing this girl's soul for the sake of the Games, I tell them. Take her and be gone. As I jog back to the group, we're all satisfied to hear the cannon go off and the approaching hovercraft, signifying her death. While they were waiting, it's apparent the Careers haven't detected any other tributes in the area. The swooping feeling that had been filling my stomach subsides. After a quick discussion we're off again, further into the valley, the unknown, and away from the weeping willows.

Very carefully I sneak a glance back at the trees. I feel someone staring me down, watching intently as we make our leave. It's got to be her. She's a forest dweller, blends into anything here. And if my gut feeling is right, she's got some damn nerve staying up there for as long as she did with a pack of rabid Careers on her doorstep. I'll never know how I earned their trust before hers.

I'm going to do my best to lead the group as far away from the trees and the trail as possible, so Katniss will get a decent head start. Daylight begins to creep over the horizon. She might not know it, but I can only hope I've given her enough time.


	4. Wood Box

Author's Note: Wowow, it's been a long time since I've posted or even really written anything! Life is crazy, let's just leave it at that. But as crazy as it can be, I won't let it leave me uninspired! Nothing belongs to me, I'm just hanging out with these characters and their stories in my head for a bit. Thanks for reading!

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**Wood Box**

When tributes died during the Hunger Games, their collected bodies didn't just disappear with the hovercrafts. If it's one thing the Capitol afforded its districts, it was the courtesy of receiving their dead and giving them a proper burial. The remains, or whatever could be found, were sent home in a plain coffin emblazoned with the name of the tribute and the Capitol seal, as well as a brief note of gratitude and recognition for their district's sacrifice.

_It is because of you that peace remains with Panem._

I can't count how many times I've heard those words in the eulogies of friends and strangers alike.

On the last day of the war, out in front of Snow's mansion, the explosives that Coin dropped on the Capitol children and Prim ensured that no scrap of them would ever be recovered. I know now that the President of District Thirteen never expected me to make it out, but survive I did with the memory of Prim, just out of reach, forever etched into my mind. If she couldn't physically blow me up, Coin was bent on at least mentally derailing me for good.

When I awoke, I already knew she was gone. No one had to tell me. I didn't have to read it from the looks on their faces. In my head I replayed the scene over and over again, her beautiful eyes and sunny hair disintegrating into nothing. Swallowed up by the roar of the explosives and the horrified screams of the children surrounding her. She was only trying to help, as I suppose I was, but instead of mine, her life was lost. Strangely enough it all makes sense although it really shouldn't, and I've been slowly managing to cope.

Therefore, while Prim still tortures me most hours of the day and night, Coin never really got what she wanted. I had decided long ago that I was against her, and people like Boggs, Haymitch, and — yes — Snow helped to reaffirm my unease.

Boggs warned me of her treachery while we were en route to the heart of the Capitol. Those words were the last he spoke to me and I'll never forget them. He died so that the rest of us could carry on, so that the true cause wouldn't end up in the rubble. Coin's death ensured that his, among others, wasn't in vain.

As much as I hate to remember it, Snow had once promised never to lie to me. While he sat there among his roses, cuffed and unable to do any more harm, we both knew that his time was at an end. He didn't need to blow those Capitol children off the face of Panem. History was set in motion to repeat itself, whether he was a part of it or not. My arrow was already lodged in his heart, though I hadn't yet taken aim. Drugged and so utterly disheartened, even I couldn't ignore that fact.

And Haymitch... well, with me or without me, he always believed in the Mockingjay. Doing good by the people. Working toward a future worth having. There were times where I doubted all sides and wanted only to rely on myself, but Haymitch never gave up, even though he'd always had a funny way of showing it. When I finally figured out what was important, got right and wrong through my unreasonably thick skull, he was there. We're so alike that it borders on a level of insanity rivaling my own.

When it came time for me to play executioner, one last role for the people, I shot District Thirteen's beloved president because she was the side of the coin that would always land face up, forever in her own favor. There was no other choice aside from her and I couldn't let it happen. This woman, who disguised herself as a leader with humility and compassion for the people, wanted to go on ruling our country as if the only thing the rebellion meant was punishment for the Capitol and the citizens who would come to oppose her. No. I didn't survive three Games for that to happen. Neither did Peeta. And those who lost their lives throughout didn't die in order for injustice to be continued.

After the war, I realized that no one escaped without paying for it in some way. Peeta lost his parents, his home, and even his mind at one point. Gale lost me, and he lost credibility after his bombs destroyed a crowd of innocent children. The Victors, the soldiers, the citizens of the Capitol; everyone paid with life or limb somehow.

My mother and I had to relinquish Prim as payment for our own lives. As tragic as the outcome was, I think it's only made my mother stronger. She gets sad, very sad sometimes, but she channels it into helping people. It's like Prim is still there, working right beside her. Calm and collected, so brave at such a young age. When I see my mother now I see Prim, and it often helps to ease the pain of her loss.

There are occasions — though they are few — that I find myself wishing we'd had that wooden box. I know there was nothing left of her to be gathered, but if only I could've had it, stamped with her name, I would have filled it with everything that Prim ever was. We could have given her the burial she deserved in old District Twelve, seen her off one last time. Don't get me wrong, though. She isn't the only one.

That's why there are memorials going up right alongside the rebuilding of the districts. That's why we're recording it all, re-writing the history books so future generations know and appreciate what was endured to make their existences possible. It will be difficult to make them understand, but the harsh reality of the matter will undoubtedly convince them that there is so much more in this world than merely surviving at the expense of one another.

I'm glad and relieved I made the right choice, when it came down to Coin and Snow. There will never be another Hunger Games for people to stake their wages on. No more families torn apart. No more dead children sent home in Capitol coffins. There is no more power. Just people. People ready to start over, ready to live life again.


	5. Neologism

Author's Note: Hoping that this makes sense. There are numerous examples of specially crafted words and phrases in THG and I love how they're not cheesy or over-zealous. As always, all previous disclaimers apply. :) Thanks for reading.

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**Neologism**

Seventy-five years before Panem's most memorable uprising, a war between the oppressed districts and their Capitol overlords was waged. Rebels from District Thirteen valiantly lead the others into battle until the day came that the Capitol would destroy them in one sweep, giving those who remained no choice but to surrender. It was always the Capitol who had the most advanced technology, wielded the power of many great nations, and influenced the world over. However, one thing it did not and could never possess was the ability to truly foresee. It could not control the weather, nor could it bend time, and it most certainly could not predict just how nature would take back the land and the poor creatures that called it home.

During a war there is little time for perfection. Though the Capitol had spent many years researching and experimenting, even its best scientists and lab technicians could not achieve the exact results they had planned and hoped for. Aside from the devastating incendiaries and merciless bombshells, their most prized weapons, deemed _muttations_, had seemingly limitless potential on the battlefield. These creations, completely unique to the Capitol facilities, were born from the minds of ingeniously twisted men who saw nothing but brilliance in their genetic manipulations. When it was discovered that they could combine two into one, the men fancied themselves gods and worked countless hours sculpting and refining their new soldiers.

It was not easy, at first. Many initial experiments were completely unstable, producing nothing but piles of dead cells or puddles of blood and fluids. Then, when things began to take shape, carcasses would appear flawless but contained little to no substance. Missing organs, defective muscle functions, insufficient responses were but a few of the problems that arose. Some came into the world blind or unable to draw breath. Even these initial, small muttations had extremely complex systems. But the Capitol scientists persevered and eventually got it right, creating a simple yet invaluable new tool (all male, fashioned in their own likeness) to be used against the enemy: the _jabberjay_.

The Capitol celebrated their successful creation, a black bird of the forests that could move quickly, silently, and blend into the environment without too much effort. Most importantly, though, the birds had excellent listening skills and were able to recite whole conversations to their masters. The Capitol was able to gain new leverage on the rebels and many attacks and raids were carried out on behalf of the jabberjay informers. While the birds were out on reconnaissance, the laboratories stayed busy with new mutts, piecing together larger beasts with much deadlier purposes.

By the time the citizens figured out that they were being monitored, the Capitol had already finished swarms of deadly, wasplike _tracker jackers_ and was carefully constructing ground troops by splicing wild dogs with criminals or captured rebels. This was known to few but the President and his most trusted men, though it was said that even the Capitol citizens could not help but notice the strange resemblance to humans in the dog creatures that stayed close to their soldiers' sides. Once unleashed, the tracker jackers were instantly feared and the _houndlings_, as they were called, exacerbated that fear and further preyed on the fragility of the rebel mind. The eyes of the houndlings were so very human while the rest tore at and devoured their enemies alive.

Though these horrors persisted, the rebels were allowed a few small victories. They began feeding lies to the jabberjays, which in turn were abandoned by their creators due to such uselessness. Tracker jackers were also found to be subdued by smoke, which was easy enough to produce by rebel forces on a largely efficient scale. And despite the onslaught of houndlings and the newer, cat-and-crab _mawls_, despite the bombings and imprisonments and facing certain death, District Thirteen was able to acquire a cache of weapons from the Capitol, which took both sides by surprise.

The district peoples did not celebrate or speak joyfully of the tide's turn. Instead they waited for Thirteen to call for peace or use their new weapons, to do something, _anything_ that would change the course of the war for good. But before a plan could be set into motion, the Capitol rained hellfire down upon the lead district and let its people burn for all to see. It was the ultimate example to be set and the ultimate sacrifice to be made.

Thirteen was reduced to a charred wasteland in less than forty-eight hours. Their weapons were presumed to be lost and there were no recorded survivors. The other districts quietly mourned their shining star and then gave into the will of the Capitol with little resistance. What could they do against such cruelty, such ruthlessness? What point was there, when all hope could be so easily eviscerated by unstoppable flames?

After those Dark Days, the common people found themselves once more ruled and ruined by Capitol tyranny. Barely a year after the rebellion's end, something called the _Hunger Games_ was made into a national event, a concept of sentencing conceived only by the most sadistic Capitol politicians and lawmakers. Mere children were plucked from their families and forced to fight to the death in an artificial arena full of dangerous obstacles. Only one survived and was able to return home after all of the bloodshed. The Games were televised and forced into the home of every citizen, making the punishment all the more real.

_To always remind you_, it had been announced. It did not take long for the Games to become sullenly accepted by all. A few of the districts that had won back Capitol favor rose to the call and began breeding some of the strongest contenders. The poorer districts could only hope that their children came to quick deaths or somehow, against all odds (which were _never_ in their favor), made it out alive.

Years after the Games were introduced and had even become something of an annual sporting event, nature gave way to its own curiosities, noticed first by the people and eventually by the vain and overfed Capitol. It was common knowledge that various colonies of mutts had survived the war and receded into the mountains or forests to live out their days as monsters in scary stories, but something happened to one species that their creators had not intended.

Left to the wilds, their hopeless jabberjays had gone and taken female mockingbird mates, which produced another type of bird entirely. These new animals had lost the unique ability to speak, but remarkably they were able to accurately mimic a wide spectrum of vocal tones and notes of even the most elaborate songs. People whistled and sang to them and were delighted to hear them in return.

For the first time in years since the reclamation of its power, the Capitol was afraid. It doled out harsher sanctions for perceived rebelliousness and tried unsuccessfully to reign in the flourishing bird population. As the birds grew in number, the people grew bolder. Soon, whispers of a new word tortured the Capitol, rendering all attempts at extermination impossible by the time of the 74th Hunger Games, in which the name's fiery implications and symbolism became clearer than ever before.

_Mockingjay_.


End file.
